


Point of No Return

by firstbreaths



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstbreaths/pseuds/firstbreaths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Until he has Blaine’s heart, he can’t go anywhere near his dick, because Sebastian might try and find ways around the truth, but he very rarely lies, at least to himself." Or: a meeting between Blaine and Sebastian, after Regionals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point of No Return

It’s not the Lima Bean where they run into each other, this time.  


Sebastian is thankful for that, even though he won’t admit it - the Lima Bean gives them a shared history, of sorts, and he’s not sure what to make of that, the fact that he’s so tethered to a set of particular circumstances, so trapped and yet freed by them, a balloon tied to a fence, but still drifting about in the wind.

Before Blaine Anderson, the closest he’d come to being tied was having his hands strapped to the bed frame with his school scarf.

They run into each other at the supermarket, two days after Regionals; Blaine’s picking through a barrel of fruit, and Sebastian bites down on his tongue to keep from making a phallic joke about the bananas. It feels pathetic, _cheap_ in a way that’s worse than throwing rock salt in Blaine’s eye, and it’s not even about the challenge of it all, anymore. It’s about –

“Here for the low prices and exceptional customer service?” Blaine asks, nodding towards a girl at the register with one hand planted firmly on her hip and a scowl on her face, and Sebastian breathes in deeply, tries not to show how relieved he is. It’s all they’ve done all week, the school, his family – thrust pamphlets in his face about depression among gay teenagers and ask if he’s okay, if there’s anything he’d like to talk about, as though liking cock suddenly gives them the right to try and turn him introspective. He’d kind of just like to sit there and decidedly not think about how his palm had felt clammy after Blaine Anderson had shook his hand at Regionals, but thinking about not thinking about it seems decidedly introspective in itself.

He just wants a few drinks and a fun night at Scandals to get it out of his system, mostly because he wants to stop thinking about how he doesn’t want to get it out of his system, not entirely at least, and it’s not for a moment or two that he realises, Blaine’s blinking curiously at him.

“One ninety-nine for a kilo of apples _and_ the charming company of Blaine Anderson,” Sebastian says, putting on his winning smile, “how could I refuse?”

“I can’t believe they only sell two flavours of Pop Tarts here,” Blaine laments, gesturing for Sebastian to follow him down the aisle.”Of all the reasons I can’t wait to get out of Lima, that’s one of them.”

His arm strains a little with the weight of his basket, and Sebastian doesn’t even think about taking it from him. For one, the muscles in his arms are rippling slightly, even under the thick material of his vest, and for another –

If he’s had a week anything like the one Sebastian’s had, he’s probably sick of being treated like he’s incapable, of being offered so much help.

“New Directions are going to LA, in a few months,” Sebastian points out instead, surprised when Blaine doesn’t even perk up a little bit.” He would have _killed_ to win Nationals – contrary to popular belief, he likes being in the Warblers for more than the chance to have a little fun corrupting their longstanding hierarchies. For all being on stage is simply about performance, it’s the one time he feels most real. “It’s a shame you lost the eyepatch, I hear they’re looking for staff in the Pirates of the Caribbean area at Disneyland, and _well.”_

Sebastian lowers his voice conspiratorially, leaning against the fridge door. A nearby customer gives him a scathing glare. “I mean, not all of us have Six Flags to put on our resume – Elvis inspired or not, that was some pretty enthusiastic hip thrusting. I don’t know why you don’t have boys beating down your door…”

Being an asshole is still fun, sometimes – Thad, in particular, is fun to wind up – but it lost most of its appeal about the same time it didn’t help with getting Blaine Anderson (or getting rid of his stupid boyfriend). The problem is, he doesn’t know how to be anything other than a dick, pretend or else. 

“ _How_ did you find out about that?”

Sebastian smirks, raising an eyebrow in response. “I have my ways,” he says finally, watching Blaine intently as he picks out a carton of ice-cream. “You’re not the only one whose rise to fame among the Warblers was lightning fast…”

Blaine just clenches the handles of his shopping basket tighter as he places the ice-cream in it, levelling his gaze. For all Blaine is painfully naïve at times, flustered and flushing in a way that gets _Sebastian_ hot under the collar, he’s never backed down from a fight. Avoided the confrontation altogether, sure, but –

He’s spent enough of his time charging at things head on to be able to appreciate a person who knows how to side step.

“Well,” Blaine says finally, with a ridiculous wink, “I can’t deny that it paid well. Or that it didn’t have its benefits, Kurt and I…”

And it’s that, more than anything, that shoots sharp like an arrow through Sebastian’s stomach; after everything this week, after feeling equal parts devastated and furious about Karofsky and his role in it – the teachers at Dalton had sat there and told him that it would be okay, that he would _cope,_ like he hadn’t just managed to compartmentalise the fact that he’d been an asshole to a suicidal kid; if there’s one thing that Sebastian hates, it’s being belittled – after coming to  terms with losing at Regionals, he can’t deal with how casual Blaine is about it, like he doesn’t know or care that Sebastian might not want to hear about how Blaine’s fucking or being fucked by Kurt Hummel. Even if it is a rather nice visual, so long as he focuses on how taut Blaine’s body must go when he’s stretched out and begging.

It hurts because he’s _proud,_ Blaine’s comfortable enough to be like this with him now, after those long periods of reticence. The point wasn’t made through clenched teeth – my boyfriend and I are having sex together, you don’t get to be a part of my life like this – but casually, calmly, like Blaine trusts him enough not to run away with the fact and fashion it into a weapon against him. It hurts because it’s such a foreign feeling, he’s not sure what to do with it.

It also makes bile rush to his throat and his stomach suddenly clench up tight; he wants the person pounding into Blaine to be him.

“Put that back,” he says, leaning over and taking the ice-cream carton out of the basket – choc chip, and it seems important in a way that it shouldn’t be, he’s not going to unravel the mystery that is Blaine Anderson by knowing his favourite ice cream flavour. But it’s something, a start, and since moving here from Paris, Sebastian’s needed too many of those not to take one when it’s offered, so he places it back in the freezer and gestures towards the door. “Coffee,” he says, smiling widely, “my treat.”

He thinks he might need something stronger than a shot of something exotic in his coffee right now, everything’s been _harder_ lately, and the thing that keeps tripping him up is how easy it seems with Blaine. Which –

Sebastian settles for ordering two medium drips from the café across the road, hoping Blaine doesn’t notice when he stirs half a dozen packets of sugar into his. If it’s necessary, he thinks he could make a joke about him being sugar sweet.

He’s just not sure if it’s a joke if the person telling it isn’t even laughing.

“So, Horatio Nelson,” he says, and he can’t help himself this time. It’s not the Lima Bean, but there’s a kind of familiarity about this scene that he’s longing to embrace as he slides into his seat, “make any conquests with that sword of yours lately?”

The thing that scares him most about it; the tinny sound of Blaine’s laugh, the way the corners of his lips quirk upwards as he tries not to laugh too loud, they make his blood thrum harder than if he’d been at a gay bar, and managed to pick someone up with that. Things have been progressing with Blaine, slowly, and the thing is – much as he’d sometimes like to trap Kurt in one of those ridiculous straitjackets he insists on wearing, he doesn’t want to push things, either. Anyone else, he’d just fuck them and run, and if he felt more strongly about them, well – the right amount of self-loathing was as conducive to sex as anything, and he could happily let an orgasm blind him to the truth.

Until he has Blaine’s heart, he can’t go anywhere near his dick, because Sebastian might try and find ways around the truth, but he very rarely lies, at least to himself. He thinks it comes from being the son of a state comptroller, but –

It might be his heart that breaks.

“No,” Blaine says, taking a sip of his coffee. “I haven’t, and – look, Sebastian, I didn’t just shake your hand at Regionals to be polite. The wrath of the New Directions isn’t worth that, honestly.”

Sebastian can’t quite tell if he’s actually pissed off at them for some reason or another, or it’s just him teasing, but he’s willing to bet it’s the former. There’s only so long he could stand being in a show choir with Blabbermouth Berry.

“I really do want to work things out with you,” Blaine adds, whilst Sebastian’s still trying to figure it out, and it’s like his entire stomach suddenly drops. It’s not anything like an admission of love – or even _I want to fuck you, we’ll just make sure Kurt doesn’t find out_ – but it’s something and, knowing Blaine Anderson, it’s actually kind of a lot. One thing he learnt from the Warblers was that it takes Blaine a while to open up. “Once a Warbler, always a Warbler, right? I’d be doing Wes a great dishonour if I couldn’t forgive you, he was a stickler for us being a team.”

“Suddenly all the jokes about how Wes must be banging his gavel in despair at you leaving make a lot more sense,” Sebastian replies with a laugh, clutching his cup tighter. “I didn’t think Thad had it in him to be that euphemistic. Trent, on the other hand…”

“They’re good people,” Blaine says, his own hand twisting up an abandoned napkin from the biscotti Sebastian had ordered. “I mean, it took me _forever_ to try and introduce any kind of institutional change, and then they dedicated your performance to Karofsky, someone they don’t even know, like _that.”_ He smiles suddenly, a little shyly, meeting Sebastian’s eyes for the first time, and adds, “are we doing this, then? This friendship thing. Because I don’t want to talk about Kurt if it makes you uncomfortable, but I’m not going to pretend that I don’t have a boyfriend, either.”

“You tell me,” Sebastian replies, and it only starts to feel uncomfortable then, when he actually has to try and control how cheesy he makes the wink, he’s not going to put Blaine off now. It’s not what he wants, not at all, but – everything has to start somewhere, he supposes.

“You’re super attractive, I know how to play the crowd – I think we can work this to our advantage at Scandals next weekend if we’re doing this,” Sebastian adds, because he certainly didn’t move to Ohio to _grow up._

“With the caveat of no alcohol,” Blaine agrees, peeling the lid from his coffee and dunking a piece of his biscotti into it. “What you did for Karofsky, that was – a lot more useful than just sitting around talking about it, I think.”

Sebastian shrugs. “I threw rock salt in your eye in the spirit of Michael Jackson. Clearly talking isn’t my strong point.”

He gets it though, the constant itch that simply talking seems to flare up under his skin, making him more uneasy than anything else. It’s everything, the constant talk about gay marriage equality without the action – and he’s never cared about that until this year, but _maybe_ – the constant talk about being gay and how it makes him feel, as though _feeling_ gay isn’t quite enough, for these people. It makes Sebastian think too much, and it’s funny, really – that always leads to his biggest fuck ups.

Hence the rock salt, and accidentally revealing that he’d done it. Sebastian’s not going to lie; Santana Lopez is _terrifying;_ he’d been on edge for about a week. It also makes him kind of want to befriend her – they could be like Western Ohio’s gay defenders, not superheroes, just fabulous.

And oh god, he’s turning into one of _those_ kinds of gays. He _desperately_ needs to get laid – preferably by Blaine.

“Probably not,” Blaine agrees, causing Sebastian to jerk his head up sharply before _that_ thought can go any further. “I doubt it helps that everyone expects me to have some great opinion on Karofsky, and –“

“You’re clearly not into the bear cubs,” Sebastian says, because it’s easier, really, than thinking about the fact that, had Karofsky _not_ been suicidal – he probably wouldn’t have regretted a thing. He does though, and the knowledge of it sits more heavy in his stomach than the actual regret, because he didn’t want to become this person. “Although, last time we were at Scandals, you did seem to be a little preoccupied with him. Jealousy looks good on you. The passion in your eyes – _totally_ hot.  

Moving back to Ohio was supposed to be as easy as the men he got to fuck, and then there was Blaine.

Blaine sighs, letting his head droop slightly. For the first time, Sebastian notices how _tired_ he looks, his hair curling at the ends where he hasn’t been as meticulous in gelling it, and bags forming under his eyes. “I _can’t,”_ he says finally, and Sebastian just leans back in his chair, lets Blaine talk. “Every time I see him, I can’t help but think that everything I’ve got now – Kurt, the New Directions, this shot at Nationals – and the Warblers, everything I’ve lost, they’re all because of him. Because he thought it was okay to –“

He breaks off, burying his face in his hands, and Sebastian watches him, fighting the urge to reach out and take his hand. It’s such an intimate gesture, and Blaine doesn’t need it, not right now. He’s breathing heavily, and he lifts his head long enough to wipe sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, still shuddering with it. Sebastian sits there, and watches Blaine Anderson unravel in front of him, and then shake his head, take a sip of his coffee and put himself back together again, like he can tie down all of the most unruly pieces of himself, his emotions like a tightly coiled rope that he rarely lets spring free.

Seeing Blaine like this, even the slightest bit open and honest like he’s never been with Sebastian before, not even today – it makes his own stomach twist itself suddenly into knots.  

“I don’t want Karofsky to suffer any more than he has,” Blaine says, finally, “but I can’t forgive him, either.”

“But you forgive me?” Sebastian hears himself asking, before he can even stop himself, because this whole thing, whatever it is, hinges on that, really. He thinks – no, he doesn’t _love_ Blaine, he _can’t,_ but he thinks it might be true anyway – that the whole thing may just be dependent on that fact. There’s a lot of things Sebastian can deal with, recalcitrant a capella groups included, but he can’t have lost Blaine’s respect. “Because having to stare at pictures of King Kong half-naked whilst I photoshopped his dick may have been punishment enough.”

“You should apologise to Rachel,” Blaine replies, staring at him firmly over his coffee cup. “Not right now, she’s probably still singing to Quinn at her bedside in some kind of vain hope, but she’s my friend, and I don’t want to make this more difficult than it has to be.” Blaine seems cool, calm, collected in a way he wasn’t too minutes ago, despite everything, and Sebastian wonders if leaving Dalton didn’t just cause him to don a different uniform, another façade of being in control.

He tries not to read too much into it though, as much as he’s seen pictures of Blaine in the Dalton blazer, leading the Warblers, and having heard the story of how Blaine and Kurt met no less than eight times now, it’s all too easy to understand _why._ Bashful schoolboy thing doesn’t even _begin_ to cover it.

“But yes, I can forgive you,” Blaine says, placing one hand awkwardly on the table like he’s itching to lean out and hold Sebastian’s. “You did a lot of things, but you didn’t do what he did. Besides, you apologised when it was obvious you were hurting someone else. He waited until it was hurting himself…”  


Suddenly Sebastian thinks he understands so much, can imagine what Karofsky had been like, before he left McKinley. It explains a lot, and yet – where Karofsky had hidden himself away, Sebastian had been nothing but forward, both of them pushing the boundaries of the point of no return.

He would _never,_ though – he couldn’t even think about it; even with Blaine, it was all fun and games until someone got hurt. It’s still a hollow thought.

“Glad to hear that you think so highly of me,” Sebastian replies, and Blaine just smiles weakly. This conversation, it’s difficult, and he think it’s all the better for it – CW hair, whatever, he’s sick and tired of being called superficial. A lot of people just don’t see beyond what they want to, it’s part of what made Blaine so attractive to him in the first place – he challenged Sebastian’s own self perceptions, he’s not _just_ the jackass everyone thinks he is. He is kind of that though, too, and he’s not renouncing it. “This is hard for you Blaine, but –“

“Can we skip the cliché part?” Blaine asks. He dunks his biscotti with a little more force than is probably necessary, sending pieces of it shattering across the table. “Right now, I just need to drown my sorrows in coffee and some different company, for a while. I love New Directions, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes they’re enough to make me feel claustrophobic.”  
  
Sebastian feels it too, although it’s different for him – where Blaine, he thinks, feels closed in by other people’s expectations, he feels trapped by the fact that Blaine seems to have forgiven him so easily, seems to have no expectations of him at all. It’s enough to make his palms clammy and his skin itch.

“Only if you help me solve the mystery of _why_ Thad is so obsessed with early 90s pop rock,” Sebastian replies, giving Blaine a small smile in response. He tries not to laugh; he’d been worried about the Lima Bean, but it seems that he’s tethered to Blaine regardless these days, with their ever evolving dynamic, and that shared history, well -

Maybe there’s a shared future, too.

  


  



End file.
